


All Over You Like a Cheap Jacket

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Clothing, Clothing Kink, Ever Wanted to Read about Sylvain walking in on Felix? Well here it is, Felix finds Sylvain's Old School Jacket, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, The thigh highs stay ON, thigh highs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: Felix doesn't often indulge in himself, but he finds that he just can't fucking help it when he finds Sylvain's old school jacket. Oneshot, PWP. Sylvix.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 470





	All Over You Like a Cheap Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely do Plot What Plot but... well... the thigh highs stay ON, you hear?!?!?

_ **All Over You Like a Cheap Jacket** _

* * *

Felix wasn't the kind of man to feel overly sentimental about things, but he can't stop the kernel of fondness that bubbles through him, as his fingers brush over the worn black fabric. The gold lining is faded with time, one of the lapels flopping slightly where it should be crisp. 

He's not surprised that Sylvain has left the jacket here. 

Even if the monastery is regarded with fondness, memories of school aren’t. Felix spent those days drenched in sweat, slapping swords against wooden dummies until the wood split. Sylvain spent them sneaking liquor into his room and losing himself between the legs of any willing party.

It’s odd, what can happen when your family is as fucked up as Sylvain’s is. Felix’s isn’t far off, but at the same time, his father hasn’t been hounding him for grandchildren from the time he was _ seventeen _. 

Felix smirks at the thought of that. The Margrave wasn’t like to _ ever _ get grandchildren, and Felix was one smug son-of-a-bitch about it. 

He thumbs one of the golden buttons at the cuff. Sylvain is off doing a chore for Dimitri, which means he’ll drag it out until _ at least _ sundown to make it look like he’s actually putting in effort. 

He pulls the school jacket from the hanger, holding it close. It smells like dust and the old cedar wardrobe that it’s sat in for five years. Felix would _ dream _ of Sylvain and this stupid uniform. They hadn’t come to terms with the idea of _ them _ yet— at that point-- but Goddess above, Felix would dream. 

Sylvain, broad across the chest, his jacket fitting him like a second skin. Felix stares at it for a moment, then slings it around, hooking his arms into the sleeves. It’s swimming on him, hanging off of his shoulder and the ends of the cuffs skimming his fingertips. 

Felix isn’t _ short _ — he’s a respectable height for an average man— but Sylvain was just _ that much bigger _ than him. Not that he was complaining. 

He shuffles back to take a look in the dingy full length mirror that leans against the wall. Felix tends to dress down for casual nights. They haven’t met a battlefield in nearly a month, so he’s lounging around Garreg Mach in comfortable black pants and a white linen shirt. 

And now Sylvain’s old school jacket, which skims his upper thighs. Felix whistles low, turning to and fro to see his full reflection. _ Not bad _ . It’s a little awkward, seeing the uniform on him as an adult, but he likes the oversized look of it. Perhaps it’s childish, but it makes him feel like he’s truly _ Sylvain’s _. 

Felix hums lightly, his hands sliding over the material. It’s a rough cotton, but not so rough that it’s uncomfortable. He remembers how Sylvain would pull at it nervously when they were younger, an odd tick. 

He bets that Sylvain would love to see him like this, tucked into his jacket. Sprawled across their bed with little else on. Felix smirks at his reflection, his hand ghosting along the fly of his pants. 

_ The thigh highs stay on_, Sylvain frequently demands. It’d only taken once, but the man is smitten with the idea. Felix tends to roll his eyes at the request. He’ll put up a lot to _ please _, he supposes.

He turns again, surveying his back half. The jacket barely covers the curve of his bottom, which is more thrilling than he would ever admit. Sylvain would _ definitely _ approve of this, which in turn, makes _ Felix _ approve of it. 

There’s a twinge in his cock at the thought, and Felix smirks slightly. He kicks off his shoes and his pants quickly follow. He brushes a hand over his length, barely touching the soft skin there as he surveys the mirror once more. 

Yeah, it’s a good look, and he can feel the arousal pool in the pit of his stomach. His gaze turns towards the door of their bedroom, and then to the wall beside it. He’s about the make the ensemble look even better. 

Crossing the room, he grabs the soft leather of his thigh high boots. Ridiculous things, really, but they were warm and offered a _ little _ protection where he wasn’t keen on wearing armor. At least that’s what he tells himself. There’s a particularly vain side of Felix that only Sylvain was privy to, and there are moments when he likes to indulge.

He slips the boots on, buckling them loosely. Then he goes back to the mirror. 

_ Oh. _ Felix’s thighs are pale against the dark jacket. He runs a hand along the top of the boots, the leather smooth under his fingertips. His other hand grips his cock loosely, giving it a quick pump. When he pulls away, it juts out from underneath the coat hem, already leaking from his slit. _ Oh yes_, this will do. 

He rarely pleasures himself, but Sylvain is busy and Felix is _ horny _. He’s fueled by indecent thoughts of Sylvain wearing the jacket in his youth, tight across his shoulders, cut perfectly to his form. Felix swims in the garment, but he loves it— the size difference between the two of them. 

He moves to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He doesn’t _ like _ his shoes on the sheets, but he’s washed and polished them recently and hasn’t worn them since, so he’ll let it slide. 

The jacket is warm and cozy, and Felix sinks into it, thinking of Sylvain. It’s a little pathetic, how he’s always on his mind but… _ well_. Felix is allowed to be embarrassed when he’s keeping his own company, and the thoughts that come to mind are worth it. 

_ These boots_, Sylvain would say if he were present, _ drive me insane. _

Felix grabs hold of his length once more. His grip is tighter this time as he slides his hand up. He thumbs over the tip to catch some of the precome there. Sylvain is gentler with his touch, and it drives Felix mad. He squeezes, his palm twisting around the crown of his dick. 

He wonders how Sylvain did this when they were younger. Was it here, in this very room, stripped naked and on this bed? Or did he take risks, tucking into dark corners in the monastery proper, as he palmed himself while mostly clothed? 

Knowing Sylvain, it was both. 

Felix’s head falls back against the pillow, his eyes closed as he lets out a shaky breath. His hand is smaller, his strokes quicker, but it isn’t hard to imagine that it’s Sylvain’s hand on him instead. He likes to tease, keeping his hold loose, dragging the foreskin up and down leisurely. Felix slows his hand, trying to replicate the feel of it. 

It’s not enough, he decides. He releases his length, moving to sit up in the bed. He rifles around in the drawer of the bedside table until— _ Ah _. The bottle of oil is nearly empty, but there’s enough to make use of. 

He settles back into the covers, trying to calm himself. Usually, when he’s alone like this, it’s a frantic affair that ends quickly in his hands alone. But he feels like relishing the moment, sinking into Sylvain’s jacket, wearing his favorite boots, _ thinking about his hands and what they would do to him. _

The bottle is quickly uncorked, fingers dipping into the oily substance, before the container is abandoned on the bedside table. He readjusts his position, hand snaking around to press between his cheeks. The pad of his finger circles around his entrance, and he shivers at the contact. 

_ Look at you under me_, Sylvain would tell him. _ So responsive_.

He presses firmer, relaxing into the touch, and his finger slips in. He grinds into his hand, biting his lip at the pressure. He wants more, but Sylvain is the type to take things slow. Sylvain likes to pull him apart little by little, before putting him back together. 

Felix works his finger gently, pulling and pressing back in. The friction is heavenly, and Felix moans at the touch. The rest of his fingers are slick with oil, and eventually, he presses a second finger in, dragging at his rim. 

His breath hitches at the stretch and he pauses his fingers, trying to keep a hold on himself. Instead, he strokes his length once more, grip loose and distracting. He pumps the fingers inside of him again, scissoring at his muscles, stretching them slowly. 

_ Where is it _ ? Sylvain would tease, even though he knows _ exactly _ where to touch. 

Felix avoids it instead, pressing back into his hand and focusing on the gentle press of his fingers. His other hand only holds his cock, squeezing it gently as a reminder that it’s there. 

_ Can you take more, Fe? _

Yes, _ yes _ , he can, thinks. He pauses to collect a little more oil, the third finger slipping into him with little resistance. “ _ Goddess above _,” he moans, his hips shaking against the stretch. His fingers are slimmer than Sylvain’s and not as long, but heavens, he can’t think straight as he pumps them in and out with a little more urgency.

His other hand slides up his length, curling around the crown of his head. He thumbs his slit, drooling with precome, sighing at the sensation, thinking about—

The lock in the bedroom door opens with a click, the heavy oak swinging open. Sylvain walks into the room, shutting the door and locking it out of habit. He sighs as he shucks off his overcoat and shoes, rolling and stretching his shoulders out.

And then he spots Felix on the bed, red-faced with strain and embarrassment. Sylvain’s gaze rakes across his body, pausing on the jacket and then the thigh highs. It stops once he catches sight of Felix’s cock in his hand, hard and leaking. Felix pumps it once, before pressing his hips back into his hand. 

Sylvain smiles at the sight, his own hand ghosting along the front of his pants. “What’s this?” he asks.

“What does it _ look _ like?” Felix bites, but the clipped tone dies in his throat with the curl of his hand around the head of his length. Sylvain is still in the middle of the room when his gaze drops to the hand underneath Felix.

“How many,” Sylvain asks. His voice is pitched low as he watches, but Felix can’t answer. He can’t form words. He’s too focused on the tight grip around his cock, the way Sylvain is watching him, the thick drag of his fingers in his— “One?” Sylvain steps closer, undoing the top button of his shirt. And then the next one, and the next. 

Felix swallows thickly, his eyes following the length of Sylvain’s neck and the corded muscles there. His hesitation must speak for itself, because the other man crosses the room, untucking his shirt and loosening his belt. 

“Two?” Sylvain leans down and whispers against his ear, and Felix grinds against his fingers at the sound of it. The mattress dips under Sylvain as he presses his hips against Felix’s leg, _ and Goddess above, he’s already hard_. 

“Syl—” Felix moans, his knee digging hard into Sylvain’s crotch. 

“Just at the sight of you,” Sylvain purrs. He slides his hands along the soft leather of the thigh high boots, squeezing his thighs. “Every time is like the first time I saw you underneath me, all flushed and wanting.” One hand drags along Felix’s hip bone and around, cupping the firm muscles of his ass, before slipping down to where his fingers were pressing into himself and--

“_Fe,” _ he groans, his voice suddenly strained. “_Three?” _

Felix lets out a pathetic whine, and Sylvain presses his other hand to his mouth, pressing two fingers along the seam of his lips. Felix sucks them into his mouth, tongue swirling around the digits sensually. 

“What were you thinking about?” Sylvain asks him, pulling his fingers away. He drags it down his side, rucking up the jacket as he grabs a handful of Felix’s ass, squeezing. Then his hand drags back around, fingers graze Felix’s along his cock, before dropping down and cradling his balls. 

“_You,” _ he moans, punctuating the word with a push of his fingers, pressing closer to _ that _ spot. He feels Sylvain’s hand take his wrist gently, pulling his hand away. The loss is immediate, his muscles clenching around nothing. 

“Me?” Sylvain asks, pressing his fingers to the loosened hole, massaging his entrance gently. 

“Your jacket,” Felix breathes, pressing against his hand. “I— _ fuck—” _

Sylvain presses two fingers inside and Felix whimpers at the feel of it, letting go of his cock so he wouldn’t tumble over the edge too quickly. Sylvain hums at his reaction, his other hand thumbing the material of his old school coat. 

“I love this on you,” he says, leaning over to lick a stripe up Felix’s neck. “Goddess, I’ve imagined it enough times,” Sylvain confesses. “You, tucked away in my clothes, nothing else on. It’s a thing of my dreams.” 

His free hand finds Felix’s thigh, gripping at the leather there. “A close second to these, of course.”

Felix huffs at that. “Idiot,” he chides. 

“I can die a happy man,” Sylvain tells him, kissing down his neck and across his collarbone. “Now that I’ve seen you like this.” He noses open the coat, tongue circling around the rosy bud of Felix’s nipple. Felix keens into the touch, his hips jerking, trying to gain friction, _ any _ kind of friction. “What else were you thinking of?”

Felix knows he’ll just keep asking until he answers, so he swallows his pride. “How you used to jerk off,” he hisses. “Was it here in this bed? Or did you prefer to wait until your conquests—” Felix’s words are cut off abruptly, when Sylvain twists his fingers slightly, pressing into the spot that renders Felix into a sputtering mess. 

“Oh, there?” Sylvain teases, stroking it again, and Felix cries out, his sweaty bangs plastered to his forehead. Sylvain slides back up his body, his lips close to his ear, grinding his own cock against Felix’s. “And to answer your question— _ Constantly_. In this bed, in the bath, and always to _ you _.” 

“Sylvain—” 

“Always to the thought of you. Wearing my jacket or naked in my bed. Your hair loose and down. Flushed and sweaty underneath me as you—”

“_Please_,” Felix begs. “Fuck me, already.” He feels Sylvain’s lips twist into a smile, before pecking a kiss against his forehead. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Sylvain’s slips his fingers from him, pressing Felix's back into the pillows, and pulling his hips forward. Collecting the bottle of oil once more, he pours the rest onto his own cock, slicking it up as he surveys Felix. 

“_Felix_,” Sylvain says, his voice full of awe as he looks at him again. But he’s taking too long and Felix is impatient. He grabs a hold of Sylvain’s cock, lifting his legs slightly as he adjusts the positions of their hips and the other man complies.

It’s Sylvain’s turn to let out a low moan as he presses into him. It’s good, it’s _ so _ good, and Felix is practically shaking at the thickness of Sylvain, at the way he’s stretched around him. At the way he’s filled to the brim. Sylvain grabs his thigh, squeezing tightly as he holds his hips still. 

Felix huffs at that. “Don’t tell me you’re already—”

“Goddess, have you _ seen _ yourself tonight?” Sylvain snaps right back. 

“Of course I have,” Felix replies smugly. “It’s _ why— _”

Sylvain pulls his hips back, before snapping back in. Whatever Felix was thinking instantly is lost, as he arches back into the pillows. The coat falls open, tumbling down one side, revealing a dusky nipple, and Sylvain’s breath hitches at the sight. 

_ “Perfect,” _ Sylvain mutters, setting a pace that’s a little more frantic than he usually starts with. “Always so tight and warm, always so—” He groans, and Felix shudders underneath him. “Only for me,” Sylvain finishes. 

“Only for you,” Felix agrees. Sylvain grabs him by the hips, pulling him into his thrusts. Felix meets them eagerly, his muscles burn with the strain. And then Sylvain hooks his arms under his thighs, lifting his legs slightly as he changes the angle and—

Felix _ howls _ under him, throwing his head back, his eyes shut tight. He can’t hold off anymore, he’s so close, _ so _ close. He wraps his hand around his cock once more, pumping it frantically, his hand tight around the tip. 

“_Fe_, I’m—”

“_Please_,” Felix begs again, and Sylvain answers by rutting into him sharply, hitting the right angle, the _ perfect angle_, hitting it over and over and _ over— _

Felix jerks into his own hand roughly, crying out as he falls over the edges. His vision goes white as he rides the waves of his orgasm, clenching around Sylvain tightly. 

“_Fe_,” Sylvain hisses, fingers digging into the meaty part of his thighs above the boots. Several more thrusts and he’s coming too, his hips stuttering as he snaps them hard into Felix. “Oh, _ oh _ — Goddess, I love you— _ I love you_.” 

Felix doesn’t reply, but reaches to grip his hand tightly, smoothly his thumb over Sylvain’s knuckles. It’s his way of saying it too, that physical contact, and Sylvain just melts against him, pressing his forehead into the crook of his neck. 

After a moment, Sylvain pulls out. They clean up their mess and change into proper sleeping clothes. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Sylvain mutters against his skin, as they lay down for the night. Sylvain’s tucked himself into Felix’s side, resting his cheek on his chest. Felix chuckles hoarsely, carding his fingers through his hair affectionately. 

“You said you could die happy now,” Felix replies. “I’d prefer if you didn't.”

“You’re right. I can’t die until I try on _ your _ jacket.”

Felix pauses, thinking of the larger man, his muscles bulging in a too-tight vest. “_ Sylvain—” _

“Kidding, kidding.” A pause. “Unless you actually want—”

“I’d prefer to see you in something else,” Felix murmurs, turning to press a kiss into Sylvain’s forehead. “I still have that outfit from my dancer certification—”

“_Done_,” Sylvain immediately responds. 

Felix isn’t joking, even if he knows that Sylvain _ thinks _ he is. He’ll wrestle him into the tight costume, whether he wants to wear it or not. 

_ Next time _, he thinks. 

He can’t wait. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk Sylvix? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask!
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/GimmetheKfc)


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